watching the red lights flashing on radio towers

fading away in the distance 

what the FUCK am i gonna do tonight 

riding home with the windows open

the sun never sets on my pipe dreams of finding true love 

so fuck the drinks i bought for you

i've already earned my money back

in late night stolen pulls of wasted whiskey

and the lost memories of never ending nights

that all died in my mind

moments ago

IT TAKES A LOT OF GUTS TO BE A POET

and i wasn't born with them -

but i've pilfered them from the graves

of walt whitman and thomas james

i've snorted the ashes of allen ginsberg

and buried peter orlovsky beneath a pile of dirt

i've resurrected richard brautigan

in a half-mad translucent ceremony

and summoned shakespeare

to read the last rites.

so if i've offended any of my favorites -

i apologize

in a language you'll never hear

and a time you'll never see

and i'll tell you all in person when i see you,

my best friends i've never met.

what does it mean?

to wake up still drunk next to puke bucket

and stumble outside to wander through woods

crushing sage bushes underfoot

and fall among heard of deer bounding off in all directions

where all the young bucks barely have antlers

in the land of buddhadharma

I deserve something -

i can't say what

but alone in my bed i dream

of rekindled romances and sensual surprises

i dream of flying over new york cityscapes

and questionable encounters with beautiful girls

i dream of swimming through aquariums

quivering with marine life

i dream of dreaming about

the amazing things i've yet to see

i dream of taking drugs that don't exist

and i dream of falling through the ground one day

and waking up in a world

where there is no dreams, no ground, no colors

no beginning, no end